


Chalkboard Sunrise

by asofthaven



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, art student Nishinoya, chem student Ennoshita, slowly but surely taking over my life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:02:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asofthaven/pseuds/asofthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There, on the chalkboard split going around the ceramic cup, was his name, jagged lines and smeared at the end from Nishinoya whipping it around too quickly: CHIKARA.</p>
<p>Or, Nishinoya's an art student that Ennoshita can't seem to get rid of, and he's starting to think he doesn't <i>want</i> to be rid of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chalkboard Sunrise

Ennoshita’d been in the office for an hour, maybe less, when a kid with an undercut and his bangs streaked blond walked in, making a beeline for the supply closet before doing a double take and spinning around to face Ennoshita. His head was tilted slightly to the side, wide amber eyes giving him a distinctly bird-like look of confusion.

“You’re not Keiji,” he said.

Ennoshita’s eyebrows rose at that. “No,” he agreed, cutting his gaze to the clock at the edge of his computer screen. It was ten to seven. He’d been working here a week and the only people who came in this early were the professors, so he wasn’t really sure if it was necessary to say anything more—would it be worth it to introduce himself if the guy was just dropping by this one time?

But the guy moved closer, shifting the easel he was carrying to rest under his other arm so he could extend the right one towards Ennoshita.

“I’m Nishinoya Yuu,” he said, grinning, “but everyone just calls me Noya.”

Nishinoya’s hand was fine-boned and firm when Ennoshita took it. “Ennoshita Chikara.”

Nishinoya’s grin seemed to grow wider, if anything. “Nice to meetcha, Chikara!”

“Likewise,” Ennoshita replied, a little belatedly. He was pretty sure the coffee hadn’t kicked in as well as he thought it had, because things felt kind of syrupy right now, and he debated the merits of brewing another, stronger cup the longer Nishinoya stared at him with an interest that was bordering uncomfortable.

“Did you—”

“Hey, couldja help me out with something?” Nishinoya blurted out before Ennoshita could finish speaking. He eyed the easel apprehensively.

“I don’t really know anything about art,” he said awkwardly. He was a Chemistry major one class away from overloading his schedule, and the only reason he’d even known that the art office was looking for a new worker was because Akaashi had mentioned it during lunch one day. He’d been given a crash course by Professor Ukai about the supplies in the back, was still trying to figure out the difference between pastels and oils, and he was sure that whatever it was that Nishinoya needed was beyond his knowledge.

“No, no, it’s just,” Nishinoya started, switching the easel back under the other arm again, “I need a few more people for my project, so could I sketch you? You don’t even have to do anything, seriously, I just need to stare at your face for a while.”

“Um.” Granted, it wasn’t the first time Ennoshita had gotten unsolicited requests to be someone’s subject. The arts side of the campus had almost as large of a student body as the sciences department. Ennoshita took in Nishinoya’s eager expression, remembered the slight warmth of his hands, and figured there were worse ways to pass the remaining time.

“Sure,” he said, thinking that if he didn’t have to do anything, he could still work on his powerpoint like he’d been doing all morning.

It didn’t take long for Ennoshita to retract that statement and decide that there was nothing more distracting and uncomfortable than the feeling of Nishinoya’s sharp eyes trained on him. It was impossible to focus on creating enthalpy equations when he could feel Nishinoya’s gaze like a physical weight, making him want to turn and—and do _something_ to get rid of that feeling.

Ennoshita let out a breath he didn’t even known he’d been holding when Nishinoya said, loudly, “Thanks, Chikara!” He reached for his coffee mug on instinct; it felt needed even though all he’d done was watch as twenty minutes passed too quick and too slow at the same time.

Nishinoya didn’t leave, though; he was setting his easel up, unrolling a thick piece of paper and humming to himself. Ennoshita caught a splash of bright colors before it was clipped to the easel, away from his sight.

Nishinoya pulled a smaller bag out of his messenger bag, letting tubes of paint fall out onto the nearest desk. He frowned at them, seeming to take stock of his colors before disappearing into the supply room and coming out with two more of those little tubes of paint. He was humming to himself as he lined the tubes up with a precision Ennoshita hadn’t expected.

Nishinoya paused from where he was mixing colors on his palate, bright spots of orange and the most vivid violet Ennoshita had ever seen anchoring either side of it.

“Hey,” he said, looking right at Ennoshita with those wide eyes, “d’you know the differences between the kinds of paint back there?”

“Kind of,” Ennoshita said. He had a suspicion that he was about to learn about it, though, from the way Nishinoya smiled, the excitement in his voice when he asked, “D’you want me to teach you?”

The time passed quickly with Nishinoya’s endless chatter, explaining the different grades of acrylic paints—he really liked acrylics, Ennoshita realized quickly, and he had no idea what that meant, but it felt important to know—and how different paints used different bases, littering his explanations with sound effects Ennoshita didn’t understand and words that Ennoshita was half-convinced were just made up, and then words Ennoshita _did_ know, words that cropped up in his own classes, words like _water soluble_ and _cadmium_ that took on a whole new meaning when they were falling out of Nishinoya’s mouth.

And when he wasn’t talking, Nishinoya was quiet; he would stare at his work with his mouth pulled to one side, a paintbrush held between the fingers of the palm resting on his hips. And then he’d be moving again, switching out paintbrushes from the mug filled with water to his side or leaving deliberate strokes on the paper, and Ennoshita would start, remind himself that he had work to do, that he shouldn’t be staring at the way Nishinoya’s hands and wrists were already flecked with bright spots of paint, at the way the sunlight was dappling him golden.

He knew Nishinoya was done when he dumped out his paint water, refiled the cup with clean water from the sink and left his paintbrushes to sit in it.

“You’re done?” Ennoshita asked, just to be sure. Nishinoya shook his head, sitting on the edge of Ennoshita’s desk so he was facing him.

“Nah, just waiting for it to dry before I move it.”

Ennoshita nodded, expecting Nishinoya to maybe ask if he would make sure nothing happened to his painting while he went off to do whatever it was that needed getting done at eight-thirty in the morning.

Instead, Nishinoya fixed him with that gaze again, asking, “So, Chikara, what’re you doing in the art office if you don’t know anything about art?”

It sounded like it could be jibe, but there was nothing in the set of Nishinoya’s face that suggested it was—just honest curiosity that Ennoshita answered like he wasn’t being tested.

“I needed another job,” he said, figuring it would be best to keep his answers short. It was hard to pay for school and all the necessities that came with not living at home on the few hours he got as a waiter. And it was, at least, better than the shitty jobs he expected to find on campus, like filing papers and sitting at a computer for a few hours, waiting for phone calls.

“Right, right,” Nishinoya said with a nod, “So what’re you studying, then?”

Ennoshita paused with the rim of his mug resting on his lips.

“Chemistry,” he said before taking a sip. He felt kind of wary of the interest Nishinoya was showing in him, and he wasn’t quite sure why—or maybe it was that he was wary of the fact that he didn’t really mind Nishinoya and his chatter the way he normally did.

“Whoa,” Nishinoya said, “So you’re like, a real student and everything.”

Ennoshita rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “I guess? I mean, as real a student as anybody who goes here.”

“But Chemistry is so, like,” Nishinoya made a noise that reminded Ennoshita of backfiring cars, “yanno?”

“…no?”

“You gotta be some kind of genius,” Nishinoya said decisively, either not noticing or not caring about the confusion on Ennoshita’s face, “You got that look, yanno?”

“What, sleep deprived and anxious?”

Nishinoya blinked at him before barking out a delighted laugh. “Smart, Chikara, you got that smart kid look, but yeah, that, too.”

“I’m not that smart,” Ennoshita said. He wasn’t; college had made it abundantly clear that he wasn’t nearly as smart as everyone thought he was, but he was still pretty good at chemistry, and he liked seeing how the tiniest interaction between atoms and molecules could make such huge changes in the larger scheme of things, liked that there was sense in how chemicals reacted and that he could balance equations to maintain that equilibrium. He still wasn’t sure what he wanted to do, exactly, but he figured he had time to figure that out.

Nishinoya made a noise of disbelief that roused a faint smile from Ennoshita. “Sure you are,” he said, easily, like they hadn’t just met.

Ennoshita smiled bemusedly. “You seem,” _overwhelming_ , he wanted to say, _an overwhelming presence bundled tricky in a slight body_. “sure of that.”

Nishinoya shrugged, but there was something telling about the cheeky grin he sent Ennoshita’s way. “I’m good with stuff like that.”

The next hour passed with Nishinoya looking over Ennoshita’s shoulder to ask about covalent bonds and enthalpy and what the jumble of letters and numbers and more letters and numbers on the screen meant, grinning at Ennoshita’s simple explanations and put-upon sighs.

It was like he was ready to grin at anything, for anything, and it unnerved Ennoshita a little, like he wasn’t sure he could trust in someone with eyes that wide and a grin that bright.

At nine-thirty, Ennoshita had finished five more slides and Nishinoya was packing his things up, paintbrushes rinsed under the sink in the corner and dried on hem of his shirt before being placed back in his bag, little tubes of acrylic paint back in the pouch.

_Noya_ , he said to call him, but Ennoshita couldn’t bring himself to be that familiar already. “Nishinoya,” he said instead, feeling the name sit awkward on his tongue like the terms he’d started using in class, “those aren’t yours.”

Nishinoya looked up at him and Ennoshita knew what was going to happen a split second before Nishinoya started running.

His job really only required a few things of him: make sure the keys to the kiln were all accounted for, organize the supplies in the back, help Professors Ukai and Nekomata when they needed an extra pair of hands.

He hadn’t anticipated _chase down anyone who tried to walk off with the professional grade acrylics._

And, really, if they were that important, why did they just leave them out with the rest of the low grade paints and piles of charcoal and chalk?

 

“How do you like it so far?” Akaashi asked him the next time they met for lunch. Ennoshita shrugged, hesitated.

“It’s nice,” he said, deciding that Nishinoya was probably an anomaly that he didn’t need to bother Akaashi about. “You were right about it being really quiet, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Akaashi agreed, “Easy, but kind of boring, right?”

“No, it’s…” Ennoshita started, frowning, “Boring doesn’t bother me. And I can get my work done, at least.”

Akaashi snorted, his face flat. “Like I’m supposed to believe you’re not already on top of your work?”

“I need to study,” Ennoshita said, a little defensively.

“No, Bokuto and Kuroo need to study,” Akaashi said, pushing the remnants of his lunch to the side to pull out a book of short stories, “You need time to sleep.”

“I’d get more sleep if I didn’t have to work the morning shifts,” Ennoshita said pleasantly, like insomnia wasn’t eighty percent of the reason he always had bags under his eyes and Akaashi didn’t already know it.

Akaashi smirked. “I’m not trading those hours with you.”

“I still can’t believe you didn’t tell me only the morning hours were available.”

“At least the office Keurig is free,” Akaashi said in consolation, like he wasn’t pleased with the fact that he’d manage to maneuver himself out of the morning shifts.

 

Ennoshita kind of expected that to be the last of his interactions with Nishinoya, but Nishinoya kept coming. Nishinoya was six in the morning when Ennoshita unlocked the office, eyes still lidded with sleep while Nishinoya barreled in looking like his favorite time of day was before the sun had even risen. He was eight-thirty in the morning excitement on those days when Kiyoko walked in, looking for keys to the kiln, and Ennoshita had to shoo Nishinoya away from where he’d hidden, frozen, behind him.

“You’re being creepy,” he’d said more than once, “It’s probably scaring her.”

“She’s so pretty, though?” Nishinoya answered, fingers clutching the hem of Ennoshita’s shirt, “And it’s easier to be calm when I’m around you.”

Ennoshita sighed, not even bothering to move away because he’d already grown used to Nishinoya’s habit of being too close at all times.

“What’re you talking about?” he asked, but Nishinoya averted his gaze and mumbled something Ennoshita couldn’t hear, refused to repeat it when Ennoshita asked.

Nishinoya was nine-ten in the morning on Fridays, stopping in to beg Ennoshita for coffee before he had to get to his nine-fifteen drawing class because he was still kind of hungover, and Ennoshita would smile pleasantly, tell him that he’d maybe do that if he hadn’t received _twenty-three_ texts from Nishinoya the night before, disrupting his already-terrible sleep schedule. He’d still toss him some aspirin, though, because he wasn’t _totally_ heartless and it made his heart twist, the sight of Nishinoya being so miserable even though it was his own fault.

_Quiet_ , Akaashi had said. _Easy_. This, Ennoshita decided, was neither, and it was all squarely because of Nishinoya.

But the thing about Nishinoya was that Ennoshita couldn’t help but notice him, whether he was a too-early annoyance or mid-morning sunshine seated in the far corner of the room, a sketch book propped up on his knees and a collection of charcoal sticks and pencils next to him, watching the view outside with sharp, unflinching eyes. He didn’t move, maybe didn’t breathe, until light was filtering through the window and catching the highlights in his hair and refracting the excitement in his eyes, and Ennoshita couldn’t for the life of him take his eyes away.

Nishinoya was always just _there_ , just out of reach and disappearing out of the corner of Ennoshita’s eyes, and that was fine, that was easy except for the fact that familiarity was beginning to settle in the curve of Ennoshita’s breastbones, expectation crawling up his spine, and he felt like he shouldn’t get used to the idea of Nishinoya’s presence close to his side.

“I’m borrowing this,” Nishinoya announced, picking up the travel mug that Ennoshita had steadily been draining for the past fifteen minutes. Kinoshita had given it to him as a late birthday gift when they got back from break, a subtle jab at the amount of coffee Ennoshita was now requiring in order to function normally.

Narita’s gift had been more coffee, naturally.

“Nishinoya,” he said, but Nishinoya kept walking, past the tables in the middle of the room, past the large windows that were filtering in hazy morning sunlight, and into the back supply closet. Ennoshita sighed, let his eyes rise to the ceiling before he stood, trailing after Nishinoya half-worried. He’d been working here long enough to know that it wasn’t like anyone came in at this time of the day anyway.

“What are you doing?” he asked when he got to the supply closet. It smelled musky, like it always did, with that strange chemical scent that art supplies always seemed to hold.

“Decorating!” Nishinoya said. He was sitting on the ground, a pack of chalk—regular blackboard-grade white chalk instead of any one of the literal mounds of artistic chalk that was in that same drawer—open at his feet.

Ennoshita didn’t question it, just stepped further into the room to see what Nishinoya meant. The small windows near the ceiling allowed enough light that he didn’t worry about switching on the light, didn’t have to worry about squinting when Nishinoya offered the mug his way, a grin wide on his face.

There, on the chalkboard split going around the ceramic cup, was his name, jagged lines and smeared at the end from Nishinoya whipping it around too quickly: CHIKARA.

“I do know my name,” Ennoshita said idly, turning the cup slightly in his hand, careful to avoid the white. Then, “You didn’t have to do that.”

It came out almost like an apology— _you don’t have to spend your time on me_. Not when Ennoshita was standing there, hoping there would come a day where Nishinoya would stop coming—not when he couldn’t even admit to himself that he was waiting for it the way you waited for your appointment at the dentist’s office.

He hadn’t really expected anyone to take interest in him, least of all someone like Nishinoya, and he couldn’t quite admit to himself that he liked it.

Nishinoya wiped his hands on his paint-stained jeans, his head tilted to the side. “You never decorate it, though!” he said, “It’s a waste of chalkboard paint, Chikara.”

It was exactly the sort of thing Ennoshita expected to hear from Nishinoya, but it didn’t quite budge the uncomfortable feeling in his chest. It was the sort of thing that made it hard to steel himself for disappointment.

“There isn’t really a point, is there,” Ennoshita said, wiping the blurred lines with the side of his finger to clean up his name, “It just gets messed up in the end.”

“It doesn’t have to have a point, though,” Nishinoya answered, jumping to standing, “That’s what makes it fun!”

“And the most creative thing you could think of was my name?”

“You came after me quicker than I thought you would,” Nishinoya said with a laugh. “I didn’t have time for anything else!”

Ennoshita wasn’t sure what was more surprising: the fact that Nishinoya had expected him to come or the fact that Nishinoya would have done more, if allowed the time.

It wasn’t until he was chasing Nishinoya out of the door with a reminder he had class soon, that he realized that maybe the most surprising thing was that he would have come after Nishinoya, eventually.

 

“Is he always like that?” Ennoshita asked Akaashi the next day. Next to them, Kinoshita was bent over a worksheet he was supposed to have finished earlier, muttering about watts and joules. They were sitting outside, breeze too cold but sun nice where it was hitting them.

“He’s always been pretty high-energy,” Akaashi said, mouth pursed in a frown that Ennoshita recognized as the one he normally reserved for his roommates. “Is he annoying you?”

Ennoshita thought about it, making a point not to stare at the mug next to him. Nishinoya had decorated it this time, too—a geometric pattern that made Ennoshita’s eyes hurt if he stared at it for too long, and had prompted a surprised, _“You decorated it!”_ from Kinoshita when he joined them.

“Not…really, I guess,” Ennoshita answered, ignoring the way Kinoshita looked up at that.

“You like him,” Kinoshita said, like it was some big pronouncement.

“I do not,” Ennoshita said immediately, feeling heat rush into his ears.

“Uh huh,” Kinoshita said disbelievingly, his pencil tapping at his worksheet idly. He grinned. “You just spend all your time talking about him for no reason at all.”

“I do not,” Ennoshita repeated. He talked about plenty of other things besides Nishinoya, like how much harder his labs had become second semester, and how his insomnia was flaring up again. He didn’t spend all his time thinking about Nishinoya because that would be…obsessive, frankly, and weird, and maybe would explain the way affection was quickly overtaking annoyance every time he was around Nishinoya.

“For someone who likes things simple,” Akaashi said with the beginnings of a sly smirk in his voice while Kinoshita gave a little, exasperated groan, “you sure do like making life harder for yourself.”

 

A week later, he stepped out of the office to run errands for Professor Ukai, came back to find Nishinoya sitting on his desk, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he drew something new on Ennoshita’s mug.

“You’re spilling it,” he said, putting a stack of papers to the side of the desk and falling into the chair behind it.

“Bleh,” Nishinoya said, wiping the trail of dripping coffee with a thumb and wiping his thumb on his jeans, “You drink too much of it anyways.”

“I get here at six. I have to have too much of it.” If he didn’t, he’d be sleeping through his own classes.

“You could try other stuff,” Nishinoya said, his eyes narrowed in concentration, “Like an energy drink!”

Ennoshita made a face. “I might as well eat a handful of sugar,” he replied flatly; coffee was bad, but energy drinks were way worse.

“No way,” Nishinoya said sagely, tilting the cup so he could finish the design on the other side, “You wouldn’t.”

“…Eat sugar?” Ennoshita asked slowly, because it seemed a weird thing to doubt of him.

“You wouldn’t,” Nishinoya repeated, looking up suddenly, “I bet you can’t do it.”

“I’m not taking you up on that bet,” Ennoshita said flatly. “I will take my coffee back, though.”

“I’m not done,” Nishinoya chided, then, “C’mon why not? It’ll be fun!”

“For who?”

“Me, definitely,” Nishinoya said immediately, grin widening, “You, probably.”

“It’s too early for this,” Ennoshita said, though he privately felt that there wasn’t an acceptable time of day to be challenged to sugar-eating bets anyways. He reached for the mug, but Nishinoya pulled back immediately, hugging the mug to his chest with gleaming eyes.

“You’re not getting it back till you eat the sugar.”

“Are you serious,” Ennoshita said, knowing full well the answer to that question, “You are, aren’t you?”

Nishinoya leaned over, nearly toppling off the desk to reach past Ennoshita and grab the box of sugar next to the Keurig. He shook it, keeping the mug pressed firmly into his shirt.

“I can’t believe you,” Ennoshita said. What he really couldn’t believe, though, was that he was grabbing for the box, dumping some of it out onto his palm.

“That’s not a handful.”

“That is very clearly a handful.”

“A baby handful.”

“Oh, sorry, weren’t we using your hand as measurement?”

Nishinoya kicked him, but he was laughing, “Just eat it, you jerk.”

Ennoshita tipped his head back, let the fine grains fall heavy onto his tongue. He wasn’t sure whether he was actually supposed to chew the sugar or just let it melt on his tongue, and settled for awkwardly swallowing it. He pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, sure he could feel cavities forming at that very moment.

“Dude,” Nishinoya said a moment later, “You didn’t even blink.”

“What did you expect me to do?” Ennoshita asked, putting the box back where it belonged, thinking idly that he should brew another cup before his shift ended.

“I dunno,” Nishinoya admitted, “I didn’t think you’d be able to deal with all that sugar?”

Ennoshita felt a grin curl at the edges of his lips. “Take a sip of my coffee.”

“What?” Nishinoya asked, lifting the mug to his nose and sniffing. He didn’t wait for an explanation before chugging the drink, pulling away a moment later with his face pinched.

“Oh my god,” he said, “Do you just buy a box for each cup?”

Ennoshita laughed. “It’s too bitter otherwise.”

“Oh my god,” Nishinoya repeated, and this time he was grinning, “Do you eat whipped cream right out of the can, too?”

“Not usually,” Ennoshita said lightly, plucking the mug out of Nishinoya’s grip and washing the remaining sugar on his tongue down with coffee.

“You weirdo,” Nishinoya said, and Ennoshita wasn’t sure if it was the affection in his voice or the combination of sweet on sweet that made the liquid stick in his throat.

 

He was beginning to think that Kinoshita had been onto something. He just—just got this shiver along his back whenever he could feel Nishinoya’s eyes on him, but when he looked up, Nishinoya was always looking away, his eyes on the canvas or sketchbook in front of him. It made Ennoshita feel stupid because of course Nishinoya wasn’t looking at him; his imagination was running into overdrive, and it wouldn’t make sense, anyway—there wasn’t a way to balance Nishinoya to Ennoshita, not like he could do for his chemistry equations.

It just wouldn’t work, he told himself. It wasn’t sensible, and Nishinoya was kind of obnoxious, besides, and it didn’t matter how nice Nishinoya’s fingers felt against his arm when he wanted Ennoshita’s attention or that there was something calming in the way Nishinoya would lean against him while he waited for a painting to dry, talking about nothing.

“Chikara,” Nishinoya called, startling Ennoshita. He’d been thinking with his mug held up near his mouth, the design Nishinoya had drawn already smudged from his handling.

“What?” he asked, putting it down. He felt kind of sick, suddenly, and he wasn’t sure it was a good idea to put anything in his stomach. Nishinoya gestured for him to come forward, and Ennoshita sighed before getting up.

Nishinoya grinned at him as he got closer, curling the free fingers of his hand around Ennoshita’s wrist and pulling him towards the window, towards him.

“You never watch the sunrise,” he said, simple and straightforward, “You’re missing everything over at that desk, yanno?”

He let go when Ennoshita sat on the desk next to him, leaving black fingerprints on Ennoshita’s wrist.

“I don’t always notice them,” Ennoshita admitted. It was still dark, but pastel pinks and oranges were already beginning to tint the sky, “They happen too quickly for me to catch.”

Nishinoya laughed at that, bumping his shoulder into Ennoshita’s arm. Ennoshita looked down, bemused. “Well, that’s just cause you’re not paying attention, ain’t it? Besides,” he continued, attention back to his sketch like he hadn’t paused at all, “it’s not like you don’t notice the way the sunlight comes in here, right?”

Ennoshita watched the way the landscape outside was taking form under Nishinoya’s fingers, turning his attention outside as the pinks grew brighter, bleeding into a vivid orange-gold as the sun crested over the slight hills and low buildings just beyond them, and realized that he’d stopped noticing the sunrise because somehow, somehow Nishinoya had managed to eclipse even that.

 

The next day Nishinoya was rushing out of the room, easel wedged under one arm and a panicked explanation about figure drawings falling out of his mouth like he needed to give an explanation in the first place. Ennoshita’s mug was missing from his desk.

He found it sitting in the supply closet, neat in a square of light from the window. He picked it up gingerly, noting that today’s design was maybe the simplest thing besides his name, that first day. A yellow sun, mixed with orange and pink, almost childishly simple.

Ennoshita smiled, sudden and warm and terribly affectionate, and thought: this was it, this was where he lost any semblance of resolve and admitted that, yeah, he was hopelessly in love with Nishinoya and there was nothing he could do to temper that.

Kiyoko was walking in as he walked out of the supply closet, her hair held up in a neat bun with a decorative pin tucked into its side.

“Morning, Shimizu,” he said, and really, it was unfair of anyone to look that put-together before noon.

“Morning,” she greeted quietly. She studied his face for a moment before moving towards the wall that held about a hundred different kinds of paper. It was a bit unusual, given that Ennoshita was pretty sure that her concentration was in sculpture, but, then, Nishinoya’s concentration was in painting and he had just rushed off to a figure drawing seminar.

She looked at him again before asking, neutrally, “Nishinoya isn’t here?”

“He just left,” Ennoshita answered, feeling his face color. “Something about figure drawings?”

She hummed at that. “Professor Nekomata is giving some sort of special seminar today.”

Ennoshita nodded, waiting. Kiyoko rarely spoke without reason and he had a feeling that she was weighing her words before she said them from the way she studied the papers in front of her.

“It’s just…” she started, leaning up to pull at the pile at the top, “you look kind of different, today.”

“I do?”

There was something secretive about Kiyoko’s smile. “Mhm,” she said in acknowledgement as she pulled two sheets of paper free. Ennoshita had a feeling that he was missing something at the way Kiyoko turned that smile in his direction.

She rolled the papers delicately before patting him firmly on the shoulder. “Good luck.”

“What?” he asked, even though he knew what she was talking about, and he didn’t even know how she knew anything about the stupid way his heart was leaping in his chest.

Her dark eyes were amused behind her red frames. “You know, today’s not the first time he’s said hello to me without looking flustered.”

There was no reason, none at all, for that information to make blood flood Ennoshita’s face.

 

Ennoshita was still thinking about it when Akaashi came in for the next shift, a look of annoyance already on his face that told Ennoshita that Akaashi’s roommates had probably made his life unnecessarily difficult again. They were great guys individually. Ennoshita got on surprisingly well with Tsukishima, found a certain kind of charm in Kuroo’s weird older brother personality, liked Bokuto’s energy.

It was just that somehow, when they all got together…

“You could always move out,” Ennoshita said, trading spots with him and lingering in the doorway. He, Narita, and Kinoshita had room for a fourth roommate.

Akaashi’s slim fingers opened up his laptop before he answered, his face contemplative. “I don’t know what I’d do without it, honestly.”

“Relax,” Ennoshita said idly, thinking that his mornings had stopped fitting that description sometime last semester.

Akaashi pulled a thick book out of his bag, colorful sticky notes marking the moments he was supposed to be constructing his paper on. He flipped to a green sticky note, penciled notes in the margin of the book. “I don’t know that it’d be relaxing as much as it would be boring,” he said, his gaze rising to meet Ennoshita’s.

Ennoshita knew the question before it was asked. He adjusted his grip on his bag. “Yeah,” he said, thinking about charcoal smears across his wrist and the chalk already beginning to stain his fingertips, “I guess you’re right.”

Ennoshita was halfway out of the building when he realized—boring had never seemed bad, before, just inevitable until Nishinoya made boring seem wrong.

 

He got a text from Nishinoya, timestamp at 4:47 AM, that asked: **chikara r u up i need help w something**

Ennoshita was awake—it was one of those nights where he couldn’t sleep through the thoughts that spiraled through his head and found a home in his chest, so he let his eyes rise to the blackness of the ceiling, mentally calculating: if he wasn’t going to be getting sleep, and he had to be up in fifteen minutes to get to work anyways, where was the harm in seeing what it was that Nishinoya needed?

**What is it?**

By the time his text had been sent, he’d considered: property damage was a potential harm, as were migraines and injuries and Nishinoya discovering his complete inability to look away from his profile on those quiet days when he was intently focused on his work.

Nishinoya’s response came before he could doubt himself any further.

**i need u to help me get to the roof of the parking garage**

Ennoshita had to stifle a laugh because of course, _of course_ , how had he not considered breaking and entering a potential harm?

He could think of at least twenty different reasons to dissuade Nishinoya from this quest, but instead he got up quietly, opened up his dresser as silently as he could. Across the room, Kinoshita was deep in sleep, his breathing deep and slow. As he moved, he sent Nishinoya a text: **Why do you need to get there?**

Nishinoya answered before Ennoshita had even looked away from his phone.

**Project!!!!**

Of course.

 

It was surprisingly easy to get inside the garage, find the staircase, and start heading up. There was a troublesome spot on the sixth level where they could hear the night guard coming down the stairs and had to sprint silent to the other side of the garage to head up the other set of stairs, and by the time they reached the top, four floors later, Ennoshita felt a stiffness in his legs that was sure to translate into pain later.

“It’s locked,” Nishinoya said, like he was surprised that someone would lock the door to the rooftop of a garage at five in the morning.

“Well,” Ennoshita started, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He’d expected it, but he still felt a little disappointed. He stopped when it became clear that Nishinoya wasn’t going to let a lock get in his way. “What are you doing?”

The question was purely for appearances’ sake—Ennoshita had never done it himself, but he was sure that this was what picking a lock looked like. He glanced away to give himself plausible deniability, only to realize there was no such thing when he was already standing in the darkness with Nishinoya on the top level of the parking garage.

“I’m almost done, don’t worry about it,” Nishinoya answered, and then the lock unclicked, echoing loudly in the empty garage. Nishinoya grinned, turning shining eyes in Ennoshita’s direction before saying, “C’mon, we gotta hurry!”

It was cold on the rooftop and Ennoshita shivered in his hoodie. He was always cold, but five AM seemed to be a different kind of cold with how everything was still dimly dark around them. He followed at a far more leisurely pace as Nishinoya bounded forward, bouncing in excitement as he spun to take in the view.

“Look at it,” Nishinoya said, and that was when Ennoshita tore his gaze away from Nishinoya, getting as close to the edge of the roof as he dared.

Their campus looked hauntingly pretty. Everything was silhouetted in shadows, little pinpricks of light from the lamps along the campus sidewalks the only thing reminding him that people were alive and real down there. Close by, he could hear songbirds already up and singing, waiting on the sunrise the same way he and Nishinoya were.

Next to him, Nishinoya sat down, his legs hanging over the edge of the roof like they weren’t ten stories up in semi-darkness. Ennoshita stayed standing.

“What kind of project are you working on?” he asked.

Nishinoya leaned back onto his hands, his mouth twisted as he considered the question. “So we have a list, right, of prompts for our end of semester project. And one of them is light, and I was like, yeah, light, cause like you’re, um,” he stopped, waving his arm around vaguely. Ennoshita raised his eyebrows.

“I’m what?” he asked, unsure if he had heard that right. But Nishinoya was avoiding his gaze, pink crawling high onto his cheekbones.

And Ennoshita stared, thinking that maybe, maybe Nishinoya _wasn’t_ that far away.

“You could be doing anything right now,” he said, fingers playing with the hem of his hoodie. It wasn’t the first thing he wanted to say, but it still broke the tension between them.

“Yeah,” Nishinoya said, tilting his head to the side; _yeah, I know, that’s why I’m here, Chikara._

“Just making sure we’re both clear on that,” Ennoshita said, which was also not the first thing he wanted to say. It was clear that Nishinoya wasn’t sure what Ennoshita was doing either; his face was scrunched in confusion.

“What?”

“It’s just,” Ennoshita said, then stopped himself because he needed to think. He needed to think about his friend’s words and Kiyoko’s smile and the fact that he’d been the one Nishinoya texted at five in the morning.

He needed to think about the fact that maybe he’d been overthinking this entire time.

“Why did you ask me to come?” he asked after a moment, fingers stiff where they curled into the fabric.

“Why?” Nishinoya echoed, glancing up at him.

“I mean,” Ennoshita started, then shrugged because how exactly did one explain that they still couldn’t trust what was in front of them?

Nishinoya cocked his head to one side. “Do you not want to be here?” he asked, looking at Ennoshita like his answer had the potential to be earth-shattering.

It was so, so easy to trust the sincerity in those eyes, and, really, was there even a point in denying that anymore?

“I do,” he said, softly, “It’s just…I’m not that interesting, you know,” he said, like a caveat on a form.

“What’re you talking about?” Nishinoya asked, his eyes boring into Ennoshita’s. “Of course you’re interesting.”

And Ennoshita wondered: was it worth it, really, to fight on that with someone who looked at you like they’d never grow tired of looking?

He joined Nishinoya at the edge of the rooftop, pulling his knees close to his body. He let his head rest on his knees as he said, “You know, I’d like it better if we didn’t only hang out before noon.”

He felt Nishinoya move more than he saw it, and when he lifted his head, Nishinoya was already there, arms braced in the space between them and his grin just one off from dazzling.

“Yeah?” he asked and Ennoshita felt his lips curl up into a smile.

“Yeah,” he said, and Nishinoya’s answering grin was hundred watt, brighter than any sunrise Ennoshita had ever seen. And then he was leaning in, completely missing the entire reason he came out here in the first place to press his lips to Ennoshita’s in a surprisingly hesitant kiss.

Nishinoya exhaled loudly when he pulled away. “I’ve been waiting to do that for _so long,_ Chikara.”

Ennoshita laughed, feeling the sunlight warm on his skin as the sun rose through purples and pinks.

The “Oi!” that sounded immediately after was gunshot loud, making both of them jump and turn in the direction of the staircase. The nightguard was standing in the doorway, breathing heavy, eyes narrowed. Faintly, Ennoshita could hear a steady sound echoing below them.

“I don’t know,” Ennoshita said, mostly to himself, “why we thought there wouldn’t be an alarm.”

He reached out instinctively to grab Nishinoya by the scruff of his neck before he could start running.

 

They were a few weeks out from the end of the semester when Ennoshita walked in to find his mug with Nishinoya’s familiar script spelling out _have a nice day!_

“You’re still doing this?” he asked, smiling slightly as he picked up the mug.

Nishinoya was working with acrylics again, had the little tubes lined up neatly an arm’s length away. He looked up at him from around his easel. “Of course,” he said, grinning, “Didja think I’d stop?”

Ennoshita smiled fully, shaking his head; he was fairly certain Nishinoya wasn’t capable of stopping for anything. He put the mug back down before crossing the room to kiss Nishinoya’s forehead, because he could do that sort of thing now, and Nishinoya tilted his head up to brush their noses together.

“Hey, so,” he said, jumping right into conversation, “Ryuu wanted to know if you were coming with us to the beach on Friday?”

“The beach?” Ennoshita echoed, casting his gaze outside. “Isn’t it a little too early for that?”

Nishinoya waved the hand holding his paintbrush idly, getting little bits of paint on both of their clothing. “No, no, this is the best time to go, Chikara, cause nobody can yell at you for being too loud or anything.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a problem specific to you and Tanaka,” Ennoshita said wryly, trying to get the spots of paint off. He already knew it wasn’t going to work—half of his closet was flecked with little spots of paint from being too close to Nishinoya while he painted.

“Keiji said he has the same problem!”

“That’s purely because he’s always with Kuroo and Bokuto.” Ennoshita paused, then immediately dismissed the idea. He wasn’t sure what would happen if Kuroo, Bokuto, Nishinoya, and Tanaka all got together at the beach, but he was at least forty percent sure neither he nor Akaashi wouldn’t like it. There was a solid fifty percent chance that they’d have Tsukishima on their side, but that also meant there was a solid fifty percent chance that Tsukishima would be making things worse, and Ennoshita was maybe being too optimistic about those percentages.

“Hey, yanno what would be great,” Nishinoya said immediately.

“Please don’t say what I think you’re going to say.”

“We should invite Keiji and his roomies, too!”

Ennoshita sighed, drawn out and long-suffering. He could see it already—wrecked beach, annoyed patrons, a lifeguard contemplating murder to the soundtrack of Tanaka and Tsukishima’s combined laughter. Beach volleyball taken too seriously.

“I’ll text Akaashi,” Ennoshita said against his better judgement, resting his chin on Nishinoya’s head as he spoke. The sun had been up for a while now, shining too bright through the office windows. Now that it was getting warmer, people were lingering outside, bunched up on the grass and walking along beaten-in pathways.

“Are you still gonna be working here next year?” Nishinoya asked, adjusting so he was better enveloped in Ennoshita’s space, his arms loose around Ennoshita’s waist.

“Yeah,” Ennoshita said, watching as some stray clouds blew in, momentarily dipping everybody outside in cool tones.

“Awesome,” Nishinoya said, and Ennoshita could hear it in his voice; _awesome, I’ll come visit you all the time next year, too._ “Are you gonna try and switch shifts like Keiji did?”

“No,” Ennoshita said after a moment, lifting his head to run his fingers through Nishinoya’s hair. It was almost completely grown out from the undercut he remembered from their first meeting.

“Seriously?” Nishinoya asked, looking up at him, “I thought you hated having to be up so early?”

Ennoshita shrugged, smiling. “Yeah, but I kind of like the mornings.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what to say about this one tbh Ennoshita probably has really weird taste buds and needs his food/drinks at extremes to even remotely enjoy it. I love ennonoya? I love ennonoya.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always! Let me know if you spot any mistakes and I hope you enjoyed it :)


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